E is raising the children in our herb garden to be bright, healthy young sprouts. The basil has grown into full, leafy stalks. Our dill is tall enough to come up to our knees. The mint is as big as a rose bush and our cilantro has flowered. I’m so proud of my little father. Maybe I’ll get him a card for Father’s Day…

Our very healthy balcony herb garden.

I went out to our balcony and cut off a good handful of basil leaves from our tree, then scrambled up eggs while he watered and sang to the herbs (all this while wearing the ubiquitous white robe, natch). Breakfast was served in the kitchen with coffee and juice. It tasted like a garden. Something about eating something you’ve grown just brings out twice the flavor in any food.

“This is a winner,” E said, devouring every bite, including the sliced tomato.
“I thought you would have pulled out the tomato,” I asked.
“Nah, it works here for some reason.”
The homegrown basil, of course.

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